


Method vs. Madness

by marcusgriffin



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Showers, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 14:06:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18994120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marcusgriffin/pseuds/marcusgriffin
Summary: Takes place between seasons two and three.Marcus Kane is a creature of habit. Abigail Griffin is not. A study into their contrasting morning routines and where they overlap. (Or: Marcus pretends not to watch Abby shower outside in Arkadia, and she pretends not to notice.)





	Method vs. Madness

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Kat_Rowe for the beta. You are a life saver.
> 
> I'm so fascinated with the evolution of their relationship between seasons two and three. This will probably be part one of a series since I know you're all thirsty for smut. 😏

Marcus Kane was a creature of habit.

**_0500_ **

As always, he woke up several seconds before his alarm went off, used the head, and did some stretches.

**_0503_ **

He began his morning workout, which consisted of 30 reps of push-ups, pull-ups, and crunches, an optimal amount to maintain stamina.  

**_0511_ **

He dressed and headed outside for his two minute shower. On occasion he indulged in a three minute shower, but that was rare and reserved only for when he was especially sore from an injury.

**_0513_ **

He stopped by the mess hall to pour himself a coffee, carrying his thermos back to his office where he settled down to prepare for the coming day. Sliding on a pair of reading glasses, he opened the neatly stacked pile of folders on the upper right corner of his desk and sorted through them. There were always grievances to look over--which he now handled for the Chancellor ever since that one unfortunate occasion, the one they never talked about--inventories to file, security protocols to update, work orders to review, and other paperwork he preferred to get out of the way early in the day, leaving him plenty of time to tackle the more important things later on.

He sipped his coffee and let his eyes wander to the glass board riddled with notes, sector coordinates, and other details pertaining to Clarke’s possible whereabouts. He’d made it a personal priority to find her for Abby, wanting to bring her that little bit of peace back into her otherwise out of control life. The last two months had been hard for her, not just because her daughter was missing, but because Clarke didn’t _want_ to be found. He had stood back and watched as Abby’s restlessness grew while days, weeks, and months passed with no real leads. He wanted to unburden her as much as he could, or at least as much as she would let him.

Flinching as his second alarm went off, he quickly sorted his paperwork back into a neat pile to deal with later, mind far too distracted by other things.

**_0558_ **

He slid into his guard jacket and inspected his weapon, and promptly at 0600 hours, Marcus began his patrol of the outside grounds.

* *

Abby Griffin was _not_ as predictable, and it made her difficult to track.

Marcus tracked everyone, of course.

Lately her shower started anywhere between 0604 and 0617 every morning, largely depending on how tired she looked when she arrived. However, three and a half weeks ago, Abby had began to emerge from the station nearly a half hour earlier than normal. Until then, it seemed like she had an inability to wake up before 0630, often trudging into camp with her eyes still half-closed, legs seeming to carry her based off of muscle memory alone.

Always seeking out patterns, he worried over those details, but was unable to come up with any sensible explanation. Abby may have been less predictable than he was, but she always had a _reason_ for the way she did things; there was truly a method to her madness, and despite perplexing him, he found it endearing. But what reason could she possibly have for changing her shower time when the rest of her schedule had remained exactly the same? She still began her Chancellor duties after breakfast at 0730 and was always in medical by 0900.

Naturally, he modified his own schedule to investigate further.

Marcus scanned the perimeter of Arkadia from the tower, which afforded him a bird’s eye view of the grounds. He watched people milling around as the camp rose with the sun, coming to life just as it did every morning at this time. Thick fog wafted up from the lake, slowly dissipating. The smell of smoke and freshly damp greenery filled his nostrils, and he watched as birds fluttered from the tops of trees, chirping a melodious tune. A distinct, mechanical din ignited into background noise as a team worked on patching part of the electric fence, the clamor of metal upon metal layered over muffled conversation.

He counted nineteen people within the camp perimeter. Twenty, including himself.

He watched as the Chancellor stepped into a wooden shower stall, peeled off her clothing, turned on the spray, and stood there limply, body melting under the water for several minutes before she lathered the soap in her hands and began washing.

It was, of course, entirely coincidental that their schedules ever overlapped like this. His job was to keep the camp secure, and if she happened to shower at approximately the same time every morning and he happened to get a view of the olive expanse of her back, her sculpted shoulders, and her long, sun-kissed hair as it cascaded and grew heavier and wavier under the weight of the water… well, that was merely another added benefit to the already beautiful landscape.

His keen eyes scanned the area, and if he paused just a little longer when the showers came into view, that was also entirely coincidental.  He didn’t take advantage by any means; the moment she turned around to rinse her hair, when the tops of her breasts would most-likely be visible, he dutifully averted his gaze, but his imagination never failed to fill in the rest, despite his best efforts.

Marcus made sure the safety on his gun was toggled and slid the strap over his shoulder before descending the ladder. As usual, his patrol took him on a circuit of the camp. He walked past people eating their breakfast and sharing morning conversation, nodding to a few friendly faces, and continued on his way beyond the well and towards the showers. It was 0624 now. He was tempted to tell the Chancellor that she was nearing her five minute cut-off time but refrained, her likely quick and brassy retort staying with him anyway.

 _Are you_ **_timing_ ** _me, Kane?_

She was washing her face as he walked by. His mind in security mode, his eyes naturally swept across everything, including what little skin he could see between the wooden slats, as well as the part just above the stall where freckled shoulders met a long, equally freckled neck that disappeared under golden brown hair. Most of her body was hidden from view, and he ruthlessly floated the idea of letting his eyes linger and seek out more detail. His mind was still swimming with his unintentional imaginings from earlier, and it was nearly too much to handle. Expression as detached and professional as he attempted to keep his thoughts, he continued on with his patrol.

 _Six minutes, Abby,_ he thought to himself. _Even Chancellors don’t get additional water rations._

He heard the water shut off and wondered for a moment if he’d spoken aloud,  but he kept walking, the soft, damp earth sinking underneath his heavy boots as he inhaled the smoky, brisk air. He heard the faint rustle of fabric as she towelled herself off and slid into fresh clothing, followed by the creak of the door’s hinges as she emerged to begin her day.

“Marcus,” she said, and the unexpected sound of her voice made him jump ever so slightly. This was not a usual part of his routine.  

“Abby,” he responded, turning around, weapon carefully pointed downward in his hands as he gripped the cold metal harder.

“Have you eaten yet?” she asked, wringing out her wet hair with the towel.

His eyes narrowed on her. It was rare he saw her this close immediately after her shower, and he was forcefully struck by how flushed and pleasant her skin looked, and how the wet clothes clung to her body in just the right places to assist his earlier imaginings.

“I haven't.” He glanced down at his watch, then back up at her. “I could join you at 0700.”

“It’s a date,” she replied with a smile, before gathering up her things and heading inside.

_A date?_

It wasn’t unusual for them to eat their meals together, but it was rarely premeditated like this. Typically, one of them would find the other in the commons area, or outside if it was especially pleasant, and join with their meal tray. They’d eat in comfortable silence, conversation layered naturally between mouthfuls and sips of coffee, but this… this was formal and had intent and was a little too much like an _actual_ date, and surely there was no way in hell that Abby was proposing that. Not with him.

It was just breakfast, he assured himself, but the potential idea made his stomach lurch, and not in an entirely unpleasant way.

* * * *

Abby had stayed in bed for several minutes longer than usual that morning, body exhausted from performing routine surgeries, implant removals, and adjusting a few broken bones the day before, all on top of her normal, painfully bureaucratic duties as Chancellor. Stretching her arms over her head, she linked her fingers together, joints protested slightly, reminding her that she couldn’t keep up this routine forever. She hated to admit it, but Jackson was right; being doctor, Chancellor, _and_ worrying mother--it wasn’t sustainable, and she wouldn’t be getting a full night’s rest until her daughter was home safe. She was already balancing so much, and the stress about Clarke threatened to push her over the edge.

She finally sat up, which was a start. Her mind drifted to Marcus and how the bastard had probably been awake for hours by now. It was sickening what an early riser he was, and the thought alone drew a laborious yawn from her. She tried her best to ignore the question lingering in her mind, but it stayed there anyway.

_What would it take to get that man to stay in bed all morning?_

Her legs dangled over the edge of her bunk for a moment before she pressed down on the balls of her feet, skin greeted by the jarringly cold floor. She rolled her neck a few times, then slowly stood, dressed, used the head, and retrieved clean clothes and a towel for her morning shower. She needed that shower to rejuvenate her, freshen her mind for another day of work, almost as much as she’d need the coffee that came after.

When she stepped outside, the air was brisk but stimulating. Vision blurred and mind still hazy from sleep, she noted the birds singing, the mist and fog rising off the lake and engulfing the camp, and the smell of smoke in the air. And as usual, Marcus up in his high tower in the sky where, conveniently, he would have a great view of her as she showered. They had never talked about it, but about a month ago when she started to suspect he may have had some ulterior motives for occupying his convenient vantage point, she ‘randomly’ changed her shower time by a half an hour to see what would happen. Incredibly, Marcus Kane, creature of habit, with his perfectly poised gun, steady gait, gorgeous hair, nauseatingly neat uniform, and prompt nature… well, he changed his schedule by a half hour, too. Coincidences like that simply didn’t occur in any natural variant of the real world.

She had commented on it in passing at breakfast a couple weeks ago, remarking ‘casually’ that he was doing an earlier patrol than usual. He had nodded curtly and kept eating, and, of course, the bastard’s face was as unreadable as ever.

She turned on the water, waiting for it to warm to its just-past-unbearably-cold temperature. This early in the morning, Raven’s solar panels were only getting started and there was never enough residual UV from the day before for a _truly_ hot shower. She undressed with a shiver and draped her clothes over the edge of the stall, carefully keeping her back to the tower. Even the lukewarm water was welcome in the frigid air this morning, and she stood beneath it, mindlessly enjoying it for several soothing minutes and letting it soak away her sweat, grime, and yesterday's stress.

She could only ignore the nagging voice in her head about water rations for so long (it was his voice, of course), so she begrudgingly reached for the soap and started washing her hair. Once fully lathered, she turned around to let the spray rinse her scalp. Her gaze moved upward towards the tower, and ever the gentleman, she watched him deliberately avert his eyes. From his view in the sky, it would be so easy for him to take advantage. She found it charming, especially in light of the fact that he’d probably shoot anyone that _did_ take advantage of the view.

She watched him begin his climb down the ladder. He would undoubtedly circle her like a hawk in the name of security, and despite herself, she didn’t mind. Maybe she even liked it.

She brought her soapy hands to her face and gently scrubbed, listening to the unmistakable wet squish of his boots against the mud as he approached, examined the area quickly, and walked past the showers. She'd be accusing anyone else of harassment, but she was certain he didn’t mean it to be predatory. Marcus Kane was a bastard at times, but he wasn’t a pervert. He respected her, even if sometimes she wished he’d disrespect her just a little.

She surprised herself with that thought and, once rinsed, she quickly shut off the water, toweled dry, dressed, and called out to him. She swore he jumped a little.

He turned on his heel, and she could feel his eyes _penetrating_ her, but after all that reasoning with herself that he didn’t have ill-intentions, she was starting to think maybe it was in her head after all. His gaze remained neutral, as always, but for a second it seemed like he was looking at her flushed chest where the half-buttoned neckline of her shirt spilled open to make way for her necklace.

“Have you eaten yet?” she asked, knowing he hadn’t.

She listened to him suggest they meet at “0700”, like it was some revolutionary idea, when the truth was that they did it nearly every morning before convening in the meeting room to discuss daily operations. And Clarke. The thought of setting up a formal time seemed to spook him, however, and she realized how much she liked seeing him slightly unnerved.

“It’s a date.”

* * * *

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, knees occasionally bumping under the table as they ate. He asked her how her surgeries had gone the day before, and she answered before questioning him about his patrol. There was comfort in this, whatever _this_ was, and they both cherished these quiet moments of normalcy; there was always that looming feeling that the peace wouldn’t last, and it hung over them like thick, acid fog.

She watched as he took a sip of coffee, his Adam’s apple dipping as he swallowed. He set down his thermos and leveled his brown eyes on her in a way that made her feel like she was just a moving piece he was observing, as if he was still on his morning patrol outside, playing a mental game of chess with his surroundings.

“What?” he asked gently, the corner of his mouth quirking into the slightest of smiles.

She wanted to tell him how damn guarded his expressions always were, how impenetrable he was, how she wanted to be let in, how she knew he rescheduled his patrol just after she changed her shower time, how she was uncertain why he did when he averted his eyes every time he might see more of her body than was probably safe, how she was torn between wanting him to look and loving that he didn't. She wanted to tell him so many things.

“Nothing,” she decided to say instead.

She felt his eyes burrowing into her again, and for a moment she wished she could be as unreadable as he was. Clearly her answer didn’t satisfy him, and it frustrated her that he knew more about her emotional state than she did about his. Even back on the Ark, with that perpetually smug look on his face, she had no idea what he’d been thinking, while, in return, her flushed skin, raised voice, and rigid jaw gave away her entire hand.

“Abby,” he murmured, reaching for her and resting his much larger hand atop hers. She stared down at that and swallowed hard, eyes slowly lifting in an attempt to map his.

For a moment, she swore she could. He was staring at her with a gentle concern, but his eyes soon darted down to her mouth, with what could have been a flicker of longing until he blinked it away faster than it had surfaced.

Did Marcus Kane actually want to kiss her?

She finished eating in silence, ignoring his concern but making no move to free his hand from hers. To her surprise, he kept it there.

When they were both finished with their food, and there was no reasonable excuse left to stay like this, he finally drew his hand back and stood, returning their trays and waiting for her by the door. She joined him and they walked to the meeting room, glass board riddled with evidence of her obsessive quest, one she'd mercilessly dragged him along on to find her daughter, no matter what.

Exhausted, she half-collapsed on the couch and reached for her tablet.

* * * *

Marcus studied her from the table as she all but fell onto the couch. There was something off about her today, and it wasn’t only the burden of her missing daughter. He collected his tablet from the table and joined her on the couch, sitting in silence as he swiped through some satellite and terrain maps, but part of his mind remained occupied with trying to decipher her. Most people weren’t this hard to read, but Abby Griffin was not most people.

“You’re tired today,” he murmured under his breath uncertainly.

“A little,” she replied, thankfully not offended. As far as he could tell.

“At least you slept in for a few minutes this morning.” But the second that observation left his mouth, he clenched his jaw and scolded himself, because that was a remark intended only for his innermost thoughts and never for her ears. Ever.

He felt her look at him, and his heart pounded nervously.

“I wasn’t aware that you knew my sleep schedule so well, Marcus,” she said with a bit of derision in her voice. “Does the Chancellor need to ask permission to stay in bed for an extra ten minutes next time?”

He smiled tolerantly and set his tablet down in his lap, shifting towards her. He’d said it and there was no taking it back, so he decided to accept her teasing for now.

“I monitor _everyone_ in the morning, Abby. And during the day. And at night. It’s my job.”

“Is it also your job to watch me shower?”

His eyes widened for a moment and he quickly attempted to school his expression, wondering how long she’d been holding onto that one. The answer to the question of why she changed her shower schedule finally hit him like a rifle butt to the head. Oh, she was good...

“I don’t watch you shower,” he said, attempting to remain calm while he studied her response.

Her teasing smile turned warm and she shifted towards him, bringing her cheek to rest against the back of the couch cushion. Her chestnut eyes were sparkling with _something_ akin to amusement, and the flirtatiousness of it it made his heart rate increase ever so slightly. He liked to think their relationship had evolved immensely in the last couple months since Mount Weather, growing from a partnership into an actual friendship, but once in awhile there was a different kind of banter that snuck into their conversations, and he wasn’t sure he was ever going to learn how to properly deal with it. He just hoped to hell it never stopped.

“Abby,” he said with a shy chuckle, cheeks flushing as he bowed his head. “I promise you, I’m not… it’s not like that.”

“Marcus,” she breathed, and he could tell she was still smiling by the inflection of her voice. “It’s okay. I know. You annoy the hell out of me sometimes, but you're not an ass."

He smiled faintly and finally worked up the courage to look at her again, and despite the exhaustion in her eyes, she was so beautiful, her expression playful and warm, with charming fine lines that spread from the corner of her eyes towards her temples when she smiled. He could get used to seeing her like this. It was rare, these days, with so much of her attention dedicated to balancing all the roles she was currently playing. The best he could do was try to help share the burden as much as she’d let him.

He decided to take a page out of her book and shifted as well, bringing his own cheek to lean up against the back of the couch, smiling warmly down at her. As soon as he did, she bit her bottom lip, drawing his gaze there almost immediately. It wasn’t his fault, not really. He noticed nearly everything.

Of course he wanted to kiss her, he reasoned with himself. She was beautiful, she was so spirited, but she was _Abby_. And judging by the conflicted look in her eye, she must have been suffering the same dilemma. They’d been working in tandem for several months now, sharing everything with each other, and leaving very little room to return to their old opposing ways from the Ark, so it wouldn’t be that far of a stretch to think she might be sharing in his uncertainty about what came next.

He smiled warmly as he saw her eyes grow heavy, watching the comfort of her position and her obvious exhaustion lull her into a light sleep. Feeling bold, he reached forward to brush a few stray wisps of hair that didn’t fit into her ponytail out of her face, then covered her with the blanket from the back of the couch.

Standing, he moved over to the glass board to scour his notes and coordinates, thinking maybe today could be the day he’d find her daughter for her. And maybe, just maybe, once he helped her put all her scattered pieces back in place, maybe there would be room left in Abby's life for him, too.


End file.
